Hero
by skippingthistown
Summary: A look into the minds of the Heroes. Not all of them are golden, and some may be worse than the villains they fight. A new chapter for each new hero.
1. Hero

A/N-The new, slightly revamped Hero drabbles. First up is Harry Potter, savior of the Wizarding World

Disclaimer- I do not own these characters, and I'm sure J.K. would be appalled at how I'm treating them.

He walked down the hallways, thinking. There had been a fight between him and his girlfriend recently, and he had no idea what to do. They had, in fact, broken up. Being the boy that he was, this should not have bothered him. Except for what they had said.

"_You don't care about anything, you selfish prick!" She was crying, and it only made him angrier._

"_Of course I care about things! I just don't care about what you care about! You barely know me! All I am in your eyes is the hero!" He was shouting, things he never thought he would say._

_She was screaming now. "Because all you are is the hero! The moment there's a crisis, you have to stick yourself into it, ignoring how it affects everyone else! Just so you can be the hero! Sometimes I wonder if you actually love me!"_

_He was angry, words spilling over, thoughts he had kept to himself. "Well maybe I don't! Did you think of that? That maybe the only reason we're together is your ridiculous family? __**Have you ever thought of that?**__" She's crying harder now. But he's not sorry. He refuses to be sorry, as everything he said was true. He refuses to be sorry for how he feels, even if it hurts her._

"_Well then go away! Get away from me! Go be the hero!"_

Go be the hero. That was a phrase he had heard all too often. _Go save the world, you're our only hope. Go stick yourself in danger, get yourself killed. For the good of the world._

Well. They could all go to hell, because he was done being everyone's hero. They could all rot, and he couldn't care less. He knew he would be asked to save the world, to do something that no one else wanted to do. Simply because he was just unlucky enough to survive.

As he walked the hallways, he knew one thing for certain. He was done being the hero.


	2. Villain

A/N: I was looking over Hero, and suddenly the plot bunny struck again, in the form of a different hero: Draco Malfoy

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any characters, and I'm sure J.K. would not agree with me on this little drabble at all.

He stalked down the halls, robes flaring about his body in a way only a man like him could accomplish. Swishing through the dark hallways silent as the grave, the man slipped into an open door. Inside, the room was old, dust covering every surface and proving that the classroom had gone unused for years, possibly decades. Taking a seat at the wooden desk, which groaned under his weight, he closed his eyes and absent mindedly scratched the mark on his forearm. This scratching turned to rubbing, and then to a violent scraping, as if he could tear away the mark from his very flesh.

Stopping, the man left his arm, now covered in scratches which oozed thick droplets of crimson blood. He studied it for a little while, finding nothing differing about it from the other blood running through the veins of the students and professors in the castle. Could the little droplet of blood easing its way from his veins to the light of day really be so much more precious than that of any other child his own age? Because that's what this man was; a child grown too fast and thrust into adulthood without really understanding the reasons why.

He shook his head. His mind was becoming fragmented, cracking with the pressure of his duties, causing him to be unable to focus on one thought for too long without jumping to the next in a jagged chain of consciousness. A grimace wormed its way onto the man's once handsome features, worn ragged by the ideals of others.

He had stopped living in the present a long time ago, retreating to the past as a way to save himself from the horrors of the world he now lived in, the world he was helping to create. A world of prejudice, of anger and betrayal; a world ruled by the madman who believed himself something akin to a god.

The eyes of the man hardened; his thoughts pushing the child he should be further and further into the back of his mind, so that by the end he may never be able to find his way out again. Sweeping himself out of the chair, he stalked on soundless feet to the door of the classroom, leaving behind him nothing but dust.

He was done being the bad one, the villain that everyone loved to hate. The man had his own agenda now, and he would no longer take order from anyone. Not the dark, not the light, not the grey in between, because it no longer mattered to him whether or not they called him a traitor. In his grey eyes, not all heroes were good, not all saviors were golden. And he was out to prove it to the rest of them, no matter how much it hurt.


	3. Pawn

Pawn

A/N: Once again, another story in the Hero series. This time, a glimpse into the mind of the pawn in everyone's game: Ginny Weasley

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and J.K. Rowling would not agree with me on any of this

They had never been the same person to her.

No matter how many people tried to prove to her that they were, Ginny Weasley had never believed that Tom Riddle and Voldemort could ever be the same. They were too different, to unalike in their perception of the world around them to be the same person.

She had grown up with the shadow of Voldemort hanging over her like a dark shroud, comforting even in its oppression. Even before she had turned 10, and the news of the attack on Harry Potter had come from Hogwarts, Voldemort had never really disappeared. He was at every fireside chat, every meal, every game; he may not have personally hovered over them, but the shadow of what he was and what he had done would hand over them all so that no one truly remembered what life was like before he had risen to power, before parents were constantly on the lookout for dark magic.

Insane, she supposed, was the right word for Voldemort. Insanity was both his strength and greatest weakness. So deeply was he immersed in the insanity of his world domination, of the war he fought for a cause he had long forgotten the reason for, that he made reckless decisions which would end him completely.

This was not the case for Tom Riddle, no matter what they told her. Tom was very, very sane; it had become his greatest weapon, and made him even more dangerous than his counterpart. For Tom had the ability to reason, to think through a plan so well that not even the littlest flaw could go unnoticed. That was how he had risen to power, and how he had made his name a terror across the world.

Ginny knew that, yet it seemed no one else did. For them, the Order of the Phoenix, Tom Riddle and Voldemort were interchangeable. One in the same, both representing something that they would fight until they died. Looking across the battlefield, Ginny realized that most of them had done just that.

Her lips turned up in a cruel smirk. The most amusing part of this entire ordeal was that they never fully understood what they were fighting for, what they were fighting _against_.

Bending over to pick up a white mask on the dark ground, Ginerva turned it about in her hands. The feel of the mask in her hands brought other memories back to her, memories of holding a book bound in leather and magic, full of pages of darkness and blood. Back to the memories of writing in this book, spilling her soul to a demon disguised as a saint, she had taken a small part of him in return.

That was what all of the others seemed to forget. What Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked over; what her mother and father had studiously ignored; what the members of the Order had turned their heads to, was the fact that a small part of what they were fighting remained in her.

That small part allowed her to understand the nature of evil, let her know the enemy more than they ever could. Harry with his false ideas of possession believed he understood the enemy, Dumbledore with his views of grandeur believed himself to be superior in his goodness; they all were wrong.

None of them were better than him; none of them could beat him. The entire order believed that with the destruction of Voldemort, there would be no more dark magic, no more evil, no more prejudice.

What they didn't understand was that they were all pawns in his game, continuing even after the final Avada had been cast. They couldn't erase Tom Riddle or Voldemort no matter how hard they tried, and Ginny was content in knowing that she was one of the few who understood this.

Tom Riddle was not about to go away, Voldemort would not disappear, and their legacy would live on in every child born after the battle. Life was no better than it had been, because now they had nothing to fight for. A new dark lord would rise eventually, and they would learn from the mistakes of their predecessors. Ginny just wanted to be around to watch it happen, to watch the new horrors, the laugh at the surprise on the faces of the population when their new world shattered in front of them like a broken illusion.

As Harry enfolded her in his arms, murmuring about the future, Ginny closed her eyes and smiled.

After all, no one understands the nature of evil, the nature of the horrors, than those who had been possessed by it. Sometimes, the pawn in everyone's game knew more than the king ever could.

Because she was a pawn in everyone else's stories, and she knew more than all of them combined.


	4. Jekyll and Hyde

Jekyll and Hyde

A/N: A little view into the before and after of Voldemort.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Something about him had always seemed a little…off. Of course, the only people who really noticed were Dumbledore and the children at the orphanage, but they were no serious threat to him yet. After all, he was more powerful, more charismatic, and the noble blood of Slytherin flowed through his veins.

He went through his days at Hogwarts, not in a whirlwind of papers and magic, but in the calm at the eye of the storm. Dark hair delicately gelled away from his face, piercing dark blue eyes that seemed to read your soul, and a toned body helped him breach every social circle, infiltrate every organization, become the leader of every hierarchy. No one truly hated him, only hatred based on the house he had been sorted into. They were all so superficial, unable to look past his looks and charisma.

And yet he hated them all. With every look, every smile sent his way, a rage would boil up inside of him, threatening to spill over and kill every worthless human being in the entire castle. How could they not see that he was better than all of them? Were the masses honestly so idiotic that they were blind to his brilliance? But the boy supposed it was better off that way, because if they knew the truth, a panic would envelop them all, thwarting his plans.

So he waited, meticulously planning, immersing himself in the Dark Arts, and honing the skills he would need to take over the world. His plans were set, and after he graduated, no one would ever forget the name of Tom Riddle.

He would live forever in their minds, their memories, their very being. No one would ever forget him again.

:::::::::

He was all powerful now; nothing could stop him, nothing. The world was at his feet and in the palm of his hands, just waiting to be used.

The man had long since shed the image of the little boy he used to be, breaking his old self into seven parts and scattering him across the globe. Suddenly, the idea of becoming Minister of Magic was not enough for him anymore. He had tasted power, and he wanted more.

His followers, his loyal Death Eaters, would gladly die for him and his "cause". They had turned their minds away from the fact that he was a dirty as those he killed without mercy, and in some ways so had he. Gone was the boy who wanted to prove himself. He had done that time and time again. Living forever in their minds was no longer his goal, because he would physically live on for eternity.

Of course, he had sacrificed for this. Shedding his good looks like the snake he now was, the man adorned a face of the very reptiles he spoke to. Red eyes, a cruel mouth, and slits for his once aristocratic nose; these were what he had given up to become the most powerful man on the planet.

He would kill all of them, all of the filthy muggles and mudbloods, and the purebloods would rule over the survivors. For he was as a god, and they would follow him; his disciples of darkness and purity.

::::::::

They were Jekyll and Hyde, the same person yet so indescribably different. Because when Jekyll is away, Hyde comes out to play.


	5. The Watcher

A/N- The newest of the Hero drabbles: a look into the mind of Luna Lovegood.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

She was younger, more fragile in their eyes. The crazy one, her head was always in the clouds. But what they didn't know was what she knew.

The girl had been an observer since the day she was born, and observe she did. She watched her best friend, the fiery haired Ginny Weasley, grow darker by the day. She watched Harry Potter crack under the pressure of being a hero, saw as Draco Malfoy rose to the challenge to become his own savior, and observed with calculated curiosity through Dumbledore's memories as young Tom Riddle was changed into the snake he now was. She knew what made them tick, knew just the right words to say to send them down the path she wanted them to go down. She was a master of deception and manipulation in the body of a 16 year old girl.

The little moon girl knew everything there was to know about the castle, and used it to her advantage. She would put up her mask of insanity and watch the others go about their lives and trivial pursuits. She calculated their movements, watched where they went, formed a plan of attack against them should she ever need to use it. She certainly wasn't crazy, simply saner than anyone could hope to be.

So at the Battle of Hogwarts, while the other schoolchildren turned soldiers ran around in confusion, more fell to Luna Lovegood's wand than half of the Order combined. She did know you better than you did, after all.


	6. Masked

Masked

A/N: It's been a while since the Hero drabbles were created, but another hero wanted his story to be told: Severus Snape, a man who's masks were too numerous to count.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

He spent his days acting his parts. His life was a lie, his face was an ever changing mask, even his memories were tainted by the acrid tint of the people he pretended to be. The submissive follower, the double agent, the teacher; the parts he brought to life every day were beginning to fuse into his very soul, darkening his true nature and turning him into a monster as revolting as the men to whom he owed his allegiance.. Severus Snape was a a name with no meaning, and no one still lived to remember who he had been before his life had been torn to shreds and he was forced to pick up the pieces, before his masks had consumed him. The closest he had ever been to being a person instead of a shell was when he cloaked himself in the guise of the Half-Blood Prince. The closest he had been to being human was when he was with _her_, when they were young enough to think they could conquer the world with little more than dreams and ideals.

But they weren't that young anymore, their _naivety_ gone; and the girl who helped him rise into what could have been a great man was 6 feet under because of the parts he was forced to play from the day he was born. So he put on his masks each day, and each day it became that much easier to be cold and unforgiving as everyone else thought him to be.

He was a man with nothing to lose, an actor who's parts had consumed him until nothing of his original self remained. And one day, he would show those who destroyed him exactly how cruel his masks could become.


End file.
